We were five altogether--Mr. Stevens, Clark, the two Boston soldiers,
and myself; and presently we came down the steep passage in the cliff to
where our craft lay, secured by my dear wife--a birch canoe, well laden
with necessaries. Our craft was none too large for our party, but she
must do; and safely in, we pushed out upon the current, which was in
our favour, for the tide was going out. My object was to cross the river
softly, skirt the Levis shore, pass the Isle of Orleans, and so steal
down the river. There was excitement in the town, as we could tell from
the lights flashing along the shore, and boats soon began to patrol the
banks, going swiftly up and down, and extending a line round to the St.
Charles River towards Beauport.
It was well for us the night was dark, else we had run that gantlet.
But we were lucky enough, by hard paddling, to get past the town on
the Levis side. Never were better boatmen. The paddles dropped with
agreeable precision, and no boatswain’s rattan was needed to keep my
fellows to their task. I, whose sight was long trained to darkness,
could see a great distance round us, and so could prevent a trap, though
once or twice we let our canoe drift with the tide, lest our paddles
should be heard. I could not paddle long, I had so little strength.
After the Isle of Orleans was passed, I drew a breath of relief, and
played the part of captain and boatswain merely.
Yet when I looked back at the town on those strong heights, and saw
the bonfires burn to warn the settlers of our escape, saw the lights
sparkling in many homes, and even fancied I could make out the light
shining in my dear wife’s window, I had a strange feeling of loneliness.
There in the shadow of my prison walls, was the dearest thing on earth
to me. Ought she not to be with me? She had begged to come, to share
with me these dangers and hardships; but that I could not, would not
grant. She would be safer with her people. As for us desperate men bent
on escape, we must face hourly peril.
Thank God, there was work to do. Hour after hour the swing and dip of
the paddles went on. No one showed weariness, and when the dawn broke
slow and soft over the eastern hills, I motioned my good boatmen towards
the shore, and landed safely. We lifted our frigate up, and carried her
into a thicket, there to rest with us till night, when we would sally
forth again into the friendly darkness. We were in no distress all that
day, for the weather was fine, and we had enough to eat; and in such
case were we for ten days and nights, though indeed some of the nights
were dreary and very cold, for it was yet but the beginning of May.
It might thus seem that we were leaving danger well behind, after having
travelled so many heavy leagues, but it was yet several hundred miles to
Louisburg, our destination; and we had escaped only immediate danger. We
passed Isle aux Coudres and the Isles of Kamaraska, and now we ventured
by day to ramble the woods in search of game, which was most plentiful.
In this good outdoor life my health came slowly back, and I should soon
be able to bear equal tasks with any of my faithful comrades. Never man
led better friends, though I have seen adventurous service near and far
since that time. Even the genial ruffian Clark was amenable, and took
sharp reprimand without revolt.
On the eleventh night after our escape, our first real trial came. We
were keeping the middle of the great river, as safest from detection,
and when the tide was with us we could thus move more rapidly. We had
had a constant favouring wind, but now suddenly, though we were running
with the tide, the wind turned easterly, and blew up the river against
the ebb. Soon it became a gale, to which was added snow and sleet, and a
rough, choppy sea followed.
I saw it would be no easy task to fetch our craft to the land. The waves
broke in upon us, and presently, while half of us were paddling with
laboured and desperate stroke, the other half were bailing. Lifted on
a crest, our canoe, heavily laden, dropped at both ends; and again,
sinking into the hollows between the short, brutal waves, her gunwales
yielded outward, and her waist gaped in a dismal way. We looked to
see her with a broken back at any moment. To add to our ill fortune,
a violent current set in from the shore, and it was vain to attempt a
landing. Spirits and bodies flagged, and it needed all my cheerfulness
to keep my good fellows to their tasks.
At last, the ebb of tide being almost spent, the waves began to
fall, the wind shifted a little to the northward, and a piercing cold
instantly froze our drenched clothes on our backs. But with the current
changed there was a good chance of reaching the shore. As daylight came
we passed into a little sheltered cove, and sank with exhaustion on the
shore. Our frozen clothes rattled like tin, and we could scarce lift a
leg. But we gathered a fine heap of wood, flint and steel were ready,
and the tinder was sought; which, when found, was soaking. Not a dry
stitch or stick could we find anywhere, till at last, within a leather
belt, Mr. Stevens found a handkerchief, which was, indeed, as he told me
afterwards, the gift and pledge of a lady to him; and his returning to
her with out it nearly lost him another and better gift and pledge, for
this went to light our fire. We had had enough danger and work in one
night to give us relish for some days of rest, and we piously took them.
The evening of the second day we set off again, and had a good night’s
run, and in the dawn, spying a snug little bay, we stood in, and went
ashore. I sent my two Provincials foraging with their guns, and we who
remained set about to fix our camp for the day and prepare breakfast.
A few minutes only passed, and the two hunters came running back with
rueful faces to say they had seen two Indians near, armed with muskets
and knives. My plans were made at once. We needed their muskets, and the
Indians must pay the price of their presence here, for our safety should
be had at any cost.
I urged my men to utter no word at all, for none but Clark could speak
French, and he but poorly. For myself, my accent would pass after these
six years of practice. We came to a little river, beyond which we could
observe the Indians standing on guard. We could only cross by wading,
which we did; but one of my Provincials came down, wetting his musket
and himself thoroughly. Reaching the shore, we marched together, I
singing the refrain of an old French song as we went,
En roulant, ma boule roulant,
En roulant, ma boule
so attracting the attention of the Indians. The better to deceive, we
all were now dressed in the costume of the French peasant--I had taken
pains to have Mr. Stevens secure these for us before starting; a pair
of homespun trousers, a coarse brown jacket, with thrums like waving
tassels, a silk handkerchief about the neck, and a strong thick worsted
wig on the head; no smart toupet, nor buckle; nor combed, nor powdered;
and all crowned by a dull black cap. I myself was, as became my purpose,
most like a small captain of militia, doing wood service, and in the
braver costume of the coureur de bois.
I signalled to the Indians, and, coming near, addressed them in French.
They were deceived, and presently, abreast of them, in the midst of
apparent ceremony, their firelocks were seized, and Mr. Stevens and
Clark had them safe. I said we must be satisfied as to who they were,
for English prisoners escaped from Quebec were abroad, and no man could
go unchallenged. They must at once lead me to their camp. So they did,
and at their bark wigwam they said they had seen no Englishman. They
were guardians of the fire; that is, it was their duty to light a fire
on the shore when a hostile fleet should appear; and from another point
farther up, other guardians, seeing, would do the same, until beacons
would be shining even to Quebec, three hundred leagues away.
While I was questioning them, Clark rifled the wigwam; and presently,
the excitable fellow, finding some excellent stores of skins, tea, maple
sugar, coffee, and other things, broke out into English expletives.
Instantly the Indians saw they had been trapped, and he whom Mr. Stevens
held made a great spring from him, caught up a gun, and gave a wild yell
which echoed far and near. Mr. Stevens, with great rapidity, leveled his
pistol and shot him in the heart, while I, in a close struggle with
my captive, was glad--for I was not yet strong--that Clark finished my
assailant: and so both lay there dead, two foes less of our good King.
Not far from where we stood was a pool of water, black and deep, and
we sank the bodies there; but I did not know till long afterwards that
Clark, with a barbarous and disgusting spirit, carried away their scalps
to sell them in New York, where they would bring, as he confided to one
of the Provincials, twelve pounds each. Before we left, we shot a poor
howling dog that mourned for his masters, and sank him also in the dark
pool.
We had but got back to our camp, when, looking out, we saw a well-manned
four-oared boat making for the shore. My men were in dismay until I told
them that, having begun the game of war, I would carry it on to the ripe
end. This boat and all therein should be mine. Safely hidden, we watched
the rowers draw in to shore, with brisk strokes, singing a quaint
farewell song of the voyageurs, called La Pauvre Mere, of which the
refrain is:
“And his mother says, ‘My dear,
For your absence I shall grieve;
Come you home within the year.’”
They had evidently been upon a long voyage, and by their toiling we
could see their boat was deep loaded; but they drove on, like a horse
that, at the close of day, sees ahead the inn where he is to bait and
refresh, and, rousing to the spur, comes cheerily home. The figure of
a reverend old man was in the stern, and he sent them in to shore with
brisk words. Bump came the big shallop on the beach, and at that moment
I ordered my men to fire, but to aim wide, for I had another end in view
than killing.
We were exactly matched as to numbers, so that a fight would be fair
enough, but I hoped for peaceful conquest. As we fired I stepped out
of the thicket, and behind me could be seen the shining barrels of our
threatening muskets. The old gentleman stood up while his men cried for
quarter. He waved them down with an impatient gesture, and stepped out
on the beach. Then I recognized him. It was the Chevalier de la Darante.
I stepped towards him, my sword drawn.
“Monsieur the Chevalier de la Darante, you are my prisoner,” said I.
He started, then recognized me. “Now, by the blood of man! now, by the
blood of man!” he said, and paused, dumfounded.
“You forget me, monsieur?” asked I.
“Forget you, monsieur?” said he. “As soon forget the devil at mass! But
I thought you dead by now, and--”
“If you are disappointed,” said I, “there is a way”; and I waved towards
his men, then to Mr. Stevens and my own ambushed fellows.
He smiled an acid smile, and took a pinch of snuff. “It is not so
fiery-edged as that,” he answered; “I can endure it.”
“You shall have time too for reverie,” answered I.
He looked puzzled. “What is’t you wish?” he asked.
“Your surrender first,” said I, “and then your company at breakfast.”
“The latter has meaning and compliment,” he responded, “the former is
beyond me. What would you do with me?”
“Detain you and your shallop for the services of my master, the King of
England, soon to be the master of your master, if the signs are right.”
“All signs fail with the blind, monsieur.”
“I will give you good reading of those signs in due course,” retorted I.
“Monsieur,” he added, with great, almost too great dignity, “I am of the
family of the Duc de Mirepoix. The whole Kamaraska Isles are mine, and
the best gentlemen in this province do me vassalage. I make war on none,
I have stepped aside from all affairs of state, I am a simple gentleman.
I have been a great way down this river, at large expense and toil, to
purchase wheat, for all the corn of these counties goes to Quebec to
store the King’s magazine, the adored La Friponne. I know not your
purposes, but I trust you will not push your advantage”--he waved
towards our muskets--“against a private gentleman.”
“You forget, Chevalier,” said I, “that you gave verdict for my death.”
“Upon the evidence,” he replied. “And I have no doubt you deserve
hanging a thousand times.”
I almost loved him for his boldness. I remembered also that he had no
wish to be one of my judges, and that he spoke for me in the presence of
the Governor. But he was not the man to make a point of that.
“Chevalier,” said I, “I have been foully used in yonder town; by the
fortune of war you shall help me to compensation. We have come a long,
hard journey; we are all much overworked; we need rest, a better
boat, and good sailors. You and your men, Chevalier, shall row us to
Louisburg. When we are attacked, you shall be in the van; when we are at
peace, you shall industriously serve under King George’s flag. Now will
you give up your men, and join me at breakfast?”
For a moment the excellent gentleman was mute, and my heart almost fell
before his venerable white hair and his proud bearing; but something a
little overdone in his pride, a little ludicrous in the situation, set
me smiling; there came back on me the remembrance of all I had suffered,
and I let no sentiment stand between me and my purposes.
“I am the Chevalier de la--” he began.
“If you were King Louis himself, and every man there in your boat a peer
of his realm, you should row a British subject now,” said I; “or, if
you choose, you shall have fighting instead.” I meant there should be
nothing uncertain in my words.
“I surrender,” said he; “and if you are bent on shaming me, let us have
it over soon.”
“You shall have better treatment than I had in Quebec,” answered I.
A moment afterwards, his men were duly surrendered, disarmed, and
guarded, and the Chevalier breakfasted with me, now and again asking me
news of Quebec. He was much amazed to hear that Bigot had been shot, and
distressed that I could not say whether fatally or not.
I fixed on a new plan. We would now proceed by day as well as by night,
for the shallop could not leave the river, and, besides, I did not care
to trust my prisoners on shore. I threw from the shallop into the stream
enough wheat to lighten her, and now, well stored and trimmed, we pushed
away upon our course, the Chevalier and his men rowing, while my men
rested and tended the sail, which was now set. I was much loath to cut
our good canoe adrift, but she stopped the shallop’s way, and she was
left behind.
After a time, our prisoners were in part relieved, and I made the
Chevalier rest also, for he had taken his task in good part, and had
ordered his men to submit cheerfully. In the late afternoon, after an
excellent journey, we saw a high and shaggy point of land, far ahead,
which shut off our view. I was anxious to see beyond it, for ships of
war might appear at any moment. A good breeze brought up this land,
and when we were abreast of it a lofty frigate was disclosed to view--a
convoy (so the Chevalier said) to a fleet of transports which that
morning had gone up the river. I resolved instantly, since fight was
useless, to make a run for it. Seating myself at the tiller, I declared
solemnly that I would shoot the first man who dared to stop the
shallop’s way, to make sign, or speak a word. So, as the frigate stood
across the river, I had all sail set, roused the men at the oars, and we
came running by her stern. Our prisoners were keen enough to get by in
safety, for they were between two fires, and the excellent Chevalier was
as alert and laborious as the rest. They signalled us from the frigate
by a shot to bring to, but we came on gallantly. Another shot whizzed
by at a distance, but we did not change our course, and then balls came
flying over our heads, dropping round us, cooling their hot protests in
the river. But none struck us, and presently all fell short.
We durst not slacken pace that night, and by morning, much exhausted,
we deemed ourselves safe, and rested for a while, making a hearty
breakfast, though a sombre shadow had settled on the face of the
good Chevalier. Once more he ventured to protest, but I told him my
resolution was fixed, and that I would at all costs secure escape from
my six years’ misery. He must abide the fortune of this war.
For several days we fared on, without more mishap. At last, one morning,
we hugged the shore, I saw a large boat lying on the beach. On landing
we found the boat of excellent size, and made for swift going, and
presently Clark discovered the oars. Then I turned to the Chevalier,
who was watching me curiously, yet hiding anxiety, for he had upheld his
dignity with some accent since he had come into my service:
“Chevalier,” said I, “you shall find me more humane than my persecutors
at Quebec. I will not hinder your going, if you will engage on your
honour--as would, for instance, the Duc de Mirepoix!”--he bowed to my
veiled irony--“that you will not divulge what brought you back thus far,
till you shall reach your Kamaraska Isles; and you must undertake the
same for your fellows here.”
He consented, and I admired the fine, vain old man, and lamented that I
had had to use him so.
“Then,” said I, “you may depart with your shallop. Your mast and sail,
however, must be ours; and for these I will pay. I will also pay for the
wheat which was thrown into the river, and you shall have a share of our
provisions, got from the Indians.”
“Monsieur,” said he, “I shall remember with pride that I have dealt with
so fair a foe. I can not regret the pleasure of your acquaintance, even
at the price. And see, monsieur, I do not think you the criminal they
have made you out, and so I will tell a lady--”
I raised my hand at him, for I saw that he knew something, and Mr.
Stevens was near us at the time.
“Chevalier,” said I, drawing him aside, “if, as you say, you think I
have used you honourably, then, if trouble falls upon my wife before I
see her again, I beg you to stand her friend. In the sad fortunes of war
and hate of me, she may need a friend--even against her own people, on
her own hearthstone.”
I never saw a man so amazed; and to his rapid questionings I gave the
one reply, that Alixe was my wife. His lip trembled.
“Poor child! poor child!” he said; “they will put her in a nunnery. You
did wrong, monsieur.”
“Chevalier,” said I, “did you ever love a woman?”
He made a motion of the hand, as if I had touched upon a tender point,
and said, “So young, so young!”
“But you will stand by her,” I urged, “by the memory of some good woman
you have known!”
He put out his hand again with a chafing sort of motion. “There, there,”
said he, “the poor child shall never want a friend. If I can help it,
she shall not be made a victim of the Church or of the State, nor yet of
family pride--good God, no!”
Presently we parted, and soon we lost our grateful foes in the distance.
All night we jogged along with easy sail, but just at dawn, in a sudden
opening of the land, we saw a sloop at anchor near a wooded point, her
pennant flying. We pushed along, unheeding its fiery signal to bring
to; and declining, she let fly a swivel loaded with grape, and again
another, riddling our sail; but we were travelling with wind and tide,
and we soon left the indignant patrol behind. Towards evening came a
freshening wind and a cobbling sea, and I thought it best to make for
shore. So, easing the sail, we brought our shallop before the wind. It
was very dark, and there was a heavy surf running; but we had to take
our fortune as it came, and we let drive for the unknown shore, for it
was all alike to us. Presently, as we ran close in, our boat came hard
upon a rock, which bulged her bows open. Taking what provisions we
could, we left our poor craft upon the rocks, and fought our way to
safety.
We had little joy that night in thinking of our shallop breaking on the
reefs, and we discussed the chances of crossing overland to Louisburg;
but we soon gave up that wild dream: this river was the only way. When
daylight came, we found our boat, though badly wrecked, still held
together. Now Clark rose to the great necessity, and said that he would
patch her up to carry us on, or never lift a hammer more. With labour
past reckoning we dragged her to shore, and got her on the stocks, and
then set about to find materials to mend her. Tools were all too few--a
hammer, a saw, and an adze were all we had. A piece of board or a nail
were treasures then, and when the timbers of the craft were covered,
for oakum we had resort to tree-gum. For caulking, one spared a
handkerchief, another a stocking, and another a piece of shirt, till she
was stuffed in all her fissures. In this labour we passed eight days,
and then were ready for the launch again.
On the very afternoon fixed for starting, we saw two sails standing down
the river, and edging towards our shore. One of them let anchor go right
off the place where our patched boat lay. We had prudently carried on
our work behind rocks and trees, so that we could not be seen, unless
our foes came ashore. Our case seemed desperate enough, but all at once
I determined on a daring enterprise.
The two vessels--convoys, I felt sure--had anchored some distance from
each other, and from their mean appearance I did not think that they
would have a large freight of men and arms; for they seemed not ships
from France, but vessels of the country. If I could divide the force
of either vessel, and quietly, under cover of night, steal on her by
surprise, then I would trust our desperate courage, and open the war
which soon General Wolfe and Admiral Saunders were to wage up and down
this river.
I had brave fellows with me, and if we got our will it would be a thing
worth remembrance. So I disclosed my plan to Mr. Stevens and the others,
and, as I looked for, they had a fine relish for the enterprise. I
agreed upon a signal with them, bade them to lie close along the ground,
picked out the nearer (which was the smaller) ship for my purpose, and
at sunset, tying a white handkerchief to a stick, came marching out of
the woods, upon the shore, firing a gun at the same time. Presently
a boat was put out from the sloop, and two men and a boy came rowing
towards me. Standing off a little distance from the shore, they asked
what was wanted.
“The King’s errand,” was my reply in French, and I must be carried down
the river by them, for which I would pay generously. Then, with idle
gesture, I said that if they wished some drink, there was a bottle of
rum near my fire, above me, to which they were welcome; also some game,
which they might take as a gift to their captain and his crew.
This drew them like a magnet, and, as I lit my pipe, their boat scraped
the sand, and, getting out, they hauled her up and came towards me. I
met them, and, pointing towards my fire, as it might appear, led them
up behind the rocks, when, at a sign, my men sprang up, the fellows
were seized, and were forbidden to cry out on peril of their lives. I
compelled them to tell what hands and what arms were left on board. The
sloop from which they came, and the schooner, its consort, were bound
for Gaspe, to bring provisions for several hundred Indians assembled
at Miramichi and Aristiguish, who were to go by these same vessels to
re-enforce the garrison of Quebec.
The sloop, they said, had six guns and a crew of twenty men; but the
schooner, which was much larger, had no arms save muskets, and a crew
and guard of thirty men.
In this country there is no twilight, and with sunset came instantly the
dusk. Already silence and dark inclosed the sloop. I had the men bound
to a tree, and gagged also, engaging to return and bring them away
safe and unhurt when our task was over. I chose for pilot the boy,
and presently, with great care, launching our patched shallop from the
stocks--for the ship-boat was too small to carry six safely--we got
quietly away. Rowing with silent stroke, we came alongside the sloop. No
light burned save that in the binnacle, and all hands, except the watch,
were below at supper and at cards.
I could see the watch forward as we dropped silently alongside the
stern. My object was to catch this fellow as he came by. This I would
trust to no one but myself; for now, grown stronger, I had the old
spring in my blood, and I had also a good wish that my plans should
not go wrong through the bungling of others. I motioned my men to sit
silent, and then, when the fellow’s back was toward me, coming softly up
the side, I slid over quietly, and drew into the shadow of a boat that
hung near.
He came on lazily, and when just past me I suddenly threw my arms about
him, clapping my hand upon his mouth. He was stoutly built, and he began
at once to struggle. He was no coward, and feeling for his knife, he
drew it, and would have had it in me but that I was quicker, and, with
a desperate wrench, my hand still over his mouth, half swung him round,
and drove my dagger home.
He sank in my arms with a heaving sigh, and I laid him down, still and
dead, upon the deck. Then I whispered up my comrades, the boy leading.
As the last man came over, his pistol, stuck in his belt, caught the
ratlings of the shrouds, and it dropped upon the deck. This gave the
alarm, but I was at the companion-door on the instant, as the first
master came bounding up, sword showing, and calling to his men, who
swarmed after him. I fired; the bullet travelled his spine, and he fell
back stunned.
A dozen others came on. Some reached the deck and grappled with my
men. I never shall forget with what fiendish joy Clark fought that
night--those five terrible minutes. He was like some mad devil, and by
his imprecations I knew that he was avenging the brutal death of his
infant daughter some years before. He was armed with a long knife, and
I saw four men fall beneath it, while he himself got but one bad cut. Of
the Provincials, one fell wounded, and the other brought down his man.
Mr. Stevens and myself held the companion-way, driving the crew back,
not without hurt, for my wrist was slashed by a cutlass, and Mr. Stevens
had a bullet in his thigh. But presently we had the joy of having those
below cry quarter.
We were masters of the sloop. Quickly battening down the prisoners, I
had the sails spread, the windlass going, and the anchor apeak quickly,
and we soon were moving down upon the schooner, which was now all
confusion, commands ringing out on the quiet air. But when, laying
alongside, we gave her a dose, and then another, from all our swivels
at once, sweeping her decks, the timid fellows cried quarter, and
we boarded her. With my men’s muskets cocked, I ordered her crew and
soldiers below, till they were all, save two lusty youths, stowed away.
Then I had everything of value brought from the sloop, together with
the swivels, which we fastened to the schooner’s side; and when all was
done, we set fire to the sloop, and I stood and watched her burn with a
proud--too proud--spirit.
Having brought our prisoners from the shore, we placed them with
the rest below. At dawn I called a council with Mr. Stevens and the
others--our one wounded Provincial was not omitted--and we all agreed
that some of the prisoners should be sent off in the long boat, and a
portion of the rest be used to work the ship. So we had half the fellows
up, and giving them fishing-lines, rum, and provisions, with a couple of
muskets and ammunition, we sent them off to shift for themselves, and,
raising anchor, got on our way down the broad river, in perfect weather.
The days that followed are like a good dream to me, for we came on all
the way without challenge and with no adventure, even round Gaspe, to
Louisburg, thirty-eight days after my escape from the fortress.
XXIII. WITH WOLFE AT MONTMORENCI.
At Louisburg we found that Admiral Saunders and General Wolfe were gone
to Quebec. They had passed us as we came down, for we had sailed inside
some islands of the coast, getting shelter and better passage, and the
fleet had, no doubt, passed outside. This was a blow to me, for I
had hoped to be in time to join General Wolfe and proceed with him to
Quebec, where my knowledge of the place should be of service to him. It
was, however, no time for lament, and I set about to find my way
back again. Our prisoners I handed over to the authorities. The two
Provincials decided to remain and take service under General Amherst;
Mr. Stevens would join his own Rangers at once, but Clark would go back
with me to have his hour with his hated foes.
I paid Mr. Stevens and the two Provincials for their shares in the
schooner, and Clark and I manned her afresh, and prepared to return
instantly to Quebec. From General Amherst I received correspondence to
carry to General Wolfe and Admiral Saunders. Before I started back,
I sent letters to Governor Dinwiddie and to Mr. (now Colonel) George
Washington, but I had no sooner done so than I received others from them
through General Amherst. They had been sent to him to convey to General
Wolfe at Quebec, who was, in turn, to hand them to me, when, as was
hoped, I should be released from captivity, if not already beyond the
power of men to free me.
The letters from these friends almost atoned for my past sufferings,
and I was ashamed that ever I had thought my countrymen forgot me in
my worst misery; for this was the first matter I saw when I opened the
Governor’s letter:
By the House of Burgesses.
Resolved, That the sum of three hundred pounds be paid to Captain Robert
Moray, in consideration of his services to the country, and his singular
sufferings in his confinement, as a hostage, in Quebec.
This, I learned, was one of three such resolutions.
But there were other matters in his letter which much amazed me. An
attempt, he said, had been made one dark night upon his strong-room,
which would have succeeded but for the great bravery and loyalty of an
old retainer. Two men were engaged in the attempt, one of whom was
a Frenchman. Both men were masked, and, when set upon, fought with
consummate bravery, and escaped. It was found the next day that the safe
of my partner had also been rifled and all my papers stolen. There
was no doubt in my mind what this meant. Doltaire, with some renegade
Virginian who knew Williamsburg and myself, had made essay to get
my papers. But they had failed in their designs, for all my valuable
documents--and those desired by Doltaire among them--remained safe in
the Governor’s strong-room.
I got away again for Quebec five days after reaching Louisburg. We came
along with good winds, having no check, though twice we sighted French
sloops, which, however, seemed most concerned to leave us to ourselves.
At last, with colours flying, we sighted Kamaraska Isles, which I
saluted, remembering the Chevalier de la Darante; then Isle aux Coudres,
below which we poor fugitives came so near disaster. Here we all felt
new fervour, for the British flag flew from a staff on a lofty point,
tents were pitched thereon in a pretty cluster, and, rounding a point,
we came plump upon Admiral Durell’s little fleet, which was here to bar
advance of French ships and to waylay stragglers.
On a blithe summer day we sighted, far off, the Island of Orleans and
the tall masts of two patrol ships of war, which in due time we passed,
saluting, and ran abreast of the island in the North Channel. Coming up
this passage, I could see on an eminence, far distant, the tower of the
Chateau Alixe.
Presently there opened on our sight the great bluff at the Falls of
Montmorenci, and, crowning it, tents and batteries, the camp of General
Wolfe himself, with the good ship Centurion standing off like a sentinel
at a point where the Basin, the River Montmorenci, and the North Channel
seem to meet. To our left, across the shoals, was Major Hardy’s post, on
the extreme eastern point of the Isle Orleans; and again beyond that, in
a straight line, Point Levis on the south shore, where Brigadier-General
Monckton’s camp was pitched; and farther on his batteries, from which
shell and shot were poured into the town. How all had changed in the two
months since I left there! Around the Seigneur Duvarney’s manor, in the
sweet village of Beauport, was encamped the French army, and redoubts
and batteries were ranged where Alixe and I and her brother Juste had
many a time walked in a sylvan quiet. Here, as it were, round the bent
and broken sides of a bowl, war raged, and the centre was like some
caldron out of which imps of ships sprang and sailed to hand up fires of
hell to the battalions on the ledges. Here swung Admiral Saunders’s and
Admiral Holmes’s divisions, out of reach of the French batteries, yet
able to menace and destroy, and to feed the British camps with men and
munitions. There was no French ship in sight--only two old hulks with
guns in the mouth of the St. Charles River, to protect the road to the
palace gate--that is, at the Intendance.
It was all there before me, the investment of Quebec, for which I had
prayed and waited seven long years.
All at once, on a lull in the fighting which had lasted twenty-four
hours, the heavy batteries from the Levis shore opened upon the town,
emptying therein the fatal fuel. Mixed feelings possessed me. I had at
first listened to Clark’s delighted imprecations and devilish praises
with a feeling of brag almost akin to his own--that was the soldier and
the Briton in me. But all at once the man, the lover, and the husband
spoke: my wife was in that beleaguered town under that monstrous shower!
She had said that she would never leave it till I came to fetch her.
For I knew well that our marriage must become known after I had escaped;
that she would not, for her own good pride and womanhood, keep it secret
then; that it would be proclaimed while yet Gabord and the excellent
chaplain were alive to attest all.
Summoned by the Centurion, we were passed on beyond the eastern point of
the Isle of Orleans to the admiral’s ship, which lay in the channel off
the point, with battleships in front and rear, and a line of frigates
curving towards the rocky peninsula of Quebec. Then came a line of buoys
beyond these, with manned boats moored alongside to protect the fleet
from fire rafts, which once already the enemy had unavailingly sent down
to ruin and burn our fleet.
Admiral Saunders received me with great cordiality, thanked me for the
dispatches, heard with applause of my adventures with the convoy, and
at once, with dry humour, said he would be glad, if General Wolfe
consented, to make my captured schooner one of his fleet. Later, when
her history and doings became known in the fleet, she was at once called
the Terror of France; for she did a wild thing or two before Quebec
fell, though from first to last she had but her six swivel guns, which I
had taken from the burnt sloop. Clark had command of her.
From Admiral Saunders I learned that Bigot had recovered from his hurt,
which had not been severe, and of the death of Monsieur Cournal, who had
ridden his horse over the cliff in the dark. From the Admiral I came to
General Wolfe at Montmorenci.
I shall never forget my first look at my hero, my General, that flaming,
exhaustless spirit, in a body so gauche and so unshapely. When I was
brought to him, he was standing on a knoll alone, looking through a
glass towards the batteries of Levis. The first thing that struck me, as
he lowered the glass and leaned against a gun, was the melancholy in the
lines of his figure. I never forget that, for it seemed to me even then
that, whatever glory there was for British arms ahead, there was tragedy
for him. Yet, as he turned at the sound of our footsteps, I almost
laughed; for his straight red hair, his face defying all regularity,
with the nose thrust out like a wedge and the chin falling back from
an affectionate sort of mouth, his tall straggling frame and far from
athletic shoulders, challenged contrast with the compact, handsome,
graciously shaped Montcalm. In Montcalm was all manner of things to
charm--all save that which presently filled me with awe, and showed me
wherein this sallow-featured, pain-racked Briton was greater than his
rival beyond measure: in that searching, burning eye, which carried all
the distinction and greatness denied him elsewhere. There resolution,
courage, endurance, deep design, clear vision, dogged will, and heroism,
lived: a bright furnace of daring resolves and hopes, which gave England
her sound desire.
An officer of his staff presented me. He looked at me with piercing
intelligence, and then, presently, his long hand made a swift motion of
knowledge and greeting, and he said:
“Yes, yes, and you are welcome, Captain Moray. I have heard of you, of
much to your credit. You were for years in durance there.”
He pointed towards the town, where we could see the dome of the
cathedral shine, and the leaping smoke and flame of the roaring
batteries.
“Six years, your Excellency,” said I.
“Papers of yours fell into General Braddock’s hands, and they tried you
for a spy--a curious case--a curious case! Wherein were they wrong and
you justified, and why was all exchange refused?”
I told him the main, the bare facts, and how, to force certain papers
from me, I had been hounded to the edge of the grave. He nodded,
and seemed lost in study of the mud-flats at the Beauport shore, and
presently took to beating his foot upon the ground. After a minute,
as if he had come back from a distance, he said: “Yes, yes, broken
articles. Few women have a sense of national honour, such as La
Pompadour none! An interesting matter.”
Then, after a moment: “You shall talk with our chief engineer; you know
the town you should be useful to me, Captain Moray. What do you suggest
concerning this siege of ours?”
“Has any attack been made from above the town, your Excellency?”
He lifted his eyebrows. “Is it vulnerable from there? From Cap Rouge,
you mean?”
“They have you at advantage everywhere, sir,” I said. “A thousand men
could keep the town, so long as this river, those mud-flats, and those
high cliffs are there.”
“But above the town--”
“Above the citadel there is a way--the only way: a feint from the basin
here, a sham menace and attack, and the real action at the other door of
the town.”
“They will, of course, throw fresh strength and vigilance above, if our
fleet run their batteries and attack there; the river at Cap Rouge is
like this Montmorenci for defense.” He shook his head. “There is no way,
I fear.”
“General,” said I, “if you will take me into your service, and then give
me leave to handle my little schooner in this basin and in the river
above, I will prove that you may take your army into Quebec by entering
it myself, and returning with something as precious to me as the taking
of Quebec to you.”
He looked at me piercingly for a minute, then a sour sort of smile
played at his lips. “A woman!” he said. “Well, it were not the first
time the love of a wench opened the gates to a nation’s victory.”
“Love of a wife, sir, should carry a man farther.”
He turned on me a commanding look. “Speak plainly,” said he. “If we are
to use you, let us know you in all.”
He waved farther back the officers with him.
“I have no other wish, your Excellency,” I answered him. Then I told him
briefly of the Seigneur Duvarney, Alixe, and of Doltaire.
“Duvarney! Duvarney!” he said, and a light came into his look. Then he
called an officer. “Was it not one Seigneur Duvarney who this morning
prayed protection for his chateau on the Isle of Orleans?” he asked.
“Even so, your Excellency,” was the reply; “and he said that if Captain
Moray was with us, he would surely speak for the humanity and kindness
he and his household had shown to British prisoners.”
“You speak, then, for this gentleman?” he asked, with a dry sort of
smile.
“With all my heart,” I answered. “But why asks he protection at this
late day?”
“New orders are issued to lay waste the country; hitherto all property
was safe,” was the General’s reply. “See that the Seigneur Duvarney’s
suit is granted,” he added to his officer, “and say it is by Captain
Moray’s intervention.--There is another matter of this kind to be
arranged this noon,” he continued: “an exchange of prisoners, among
whom are some ladies of birth and breeding, captured but two days ago. A
gentleman comes from General Montcalm directly upon the point. You might
be useful herein,” he added, “if you will come to my tent in an hour.”
He turned to go.
“And my ship, and permission to enter the town, your Excellency?” I
asked.
“What do you call your--ship?” he asked a little grimly.
I told him how the sailors had already christened her. He smiled. “Then
let her prove her title to Terror of France,” he said, “by being pilot
to the rest of our fleet, up the river, and you, Captain Moray, be guide
to a footing on those heights”--he pointed to the town. “Then this army
and its General, and all England, please God, will thank you. Your craft
shall have commission as a rover--but if she gets into trouble?”
“She will do as her owner has done these six years, your Excellency: she
will fight her way out alone.”
He gazed long at the town and at the Levis shore. “From above, then,
there is a way?”
“For proof, if I come back alive--”
“For proof that you have been--” he answered meaningly, with an amused
flash of his eyes, though at the very moment a spasm of pain crossed his
face, for he was suffering from incurable disease, and went about his
great task in daily misery, yet cheerful and inspiring.
“For proof, my wife, sir,” said I.
He nodded, but his thoughts were diverted instantly, and he went from
me at once abstracted. But again he came back. “If you return,” said he,
“you shall serve upon my staff. You will care to view our operations,”
he added, motioning towards the intrenchments at the river. Then he
stepped quickly away, and I was taken by an officer to the river, and
though my heart warmed within me to hear that an attack was presently to
be made from the shore not far distant from the falls, I felt that the
attempt could not succeed: the French were too well intrenched.
At the close of an hour I returned to the General’s tent. It was
luncheon-time, and they were about to sit as I was announced. The
General motioned me to a seat, and then again, as if on second thought,
made as though to introduce me to some one who stood beside him. My
amazement was unbounded when I saw, smiling cynically at me, Monsieur
Doltaire.
He was the envoy from Quebec. I looked him in the eyes steadily for a
moment, into malicious, unswerving eyes, as maliciously and unswervingly
myself, and then we both bowed.
“Captain Moray and I have sat at meat together before,” he said, with
mannered coolness. “We have played host and guest also: but that was ere
he won our hearts by bold, romantic feats. Still, I dared scarcely hope
to meet him at this table.”
“Which is sacred to good manners,” said I meaningly and coolly, for my
anger and surprise were too deep for excitement.
I saw the General look at both of us keenly, then his marvellous eyes
flashed intelligence, and a grim smile played at his lips a moment.
After a little general conversation Doltaire addressed me:
“We are not yet so overwhelmed with war but your being here again will
give a fillip to our gossip. It must seem sad to you--you were so long
with us--you have broken bread with so many of us--to see us pelted so.
Sometimes a dinner-table is disordered by a riotous shell.”
He bent on torturing me. And it was not hard to do that, for how knew
I what had happened? How came he back so soon from the Bastile? It was
incredible. Perhaps he had never gone, in spite of all. After luncheon,
the matter of exchange of prisoners was gone into, and one by one
the names of the French prisoners in our hands--ladies and gentlemen
apprehended at the chateau were ticked off, and I knew them all save
two. The General deferred to me several times as to the persons and
positions of the captives, and asked my suggestions. Immediately I
proposed Mr. Wainfleet, the chaplain, in exchange for a prisoner, though
his name was not on the list, but Doltaire shook his head in a blank
sort of way.
“Mr. Wainfleet! Mr. Wainfleet! There was no such prisoner in the town,”
he said.
I insisted, but he stared at me inscrutably, and said that he had no
record of the man. Then I spoke most forcibly to the General, and said
that Mr. Wainfleet should be produced, or an account of him be given by
the French Governor. Doltaire then said:
“I am only responsible for these names recorded. Our General trusts to
your honour, and you to ours, Monsieur le General.”
There was nothing more to say, and presently the exchanges were
arranged, and, after compliments, Doltaire took his leave. I left the
Governor also, and followed Doltaire. He turned to meet me.
“Captain Moray and I,” he remarked to the officers near, “are
old--enemies; and there is a sad sweetness in meetings like these. May
I--”
The officers drew away at a little distance at once before the
suggestion was made, and we were left alone. I was in a white heat, but
yet in fair control.
“You are surprised to see me here,” he said. “Did you think the Bastile
was for me? Tut! I had not got out of the country when we a packet came,
bearing fresh commands. La Pompadour forgave me, and in the King’s
name bade me return to New France, and in her own she bade me get your
papers, or hang you straight. And--you will think it singular--if need
be, I was to relieve the Governor and Bigot also, and work to save New
France with the excellent Marquis de Montcalm.” He laughed. “You can see
how absurd that is. I have held my peace, and I keep my commission in my
pocket.”
I looked at him amazed that he should tell me this. He read my look, and
said:
“Yes, you are my confidant in this. I do not fear you. Your enemy
is bound in honour, your friend may seek to serve himself.” Again he
laughed. “As if I, Tinoir Doltaire--note the agreeable combination of
peasant and gentleman in my name--who held his hand from ambition for
large things in France, should stake a lifetime on this foolish hazard!
When I play, Captain Moray, it is for things large and vital. Else I
remain the idler, the courtier--the son of the King.”
“Yet you lend your vast talent, the genius of those unknown
possibilities, to this, monsieur--this little business of exchange of
prisoners,” I retorted ironically.
“That is my whim--a social courtesy.”
“You said you knew nothing of the chaplain,” I broke out.
“Not so. I said he was on no record given me. Officially I know nothing
of him.”
“Come,” said I, “you know well how I am concerned for him. You quibble;
you lied to our General.”
A wicked light shone in his eyes. “I choose to pass that by, for the
moment,” said he. “I am sorry you forget yourself; it were better for
you and me to be courteous till our hour of reckoning, Shall we not meet
some day?” he said, with a sweet hatred in his tone.
“With all my heart.”
“But where?”
“In yonder town,” said I, pointing.
He laughed provokingly. “You are melodramatic,” he rejoined. “I could
hold that town with one thousand men against all your army and five
times your fleet.”
“You have ever talked and nothing done,” said I. “Will you tell me the
truth of the chaplain?”
“Yes, in private the truth you shall hear,” he said. “The man is dead.”
“If you speak true, he was murdered,” I broke out. “You know well why.”
“No, no,” he answered. “He was put in prison, escaped, made for the
river, was pursued, fought, and was killed. So much for serving you.”
“Will you answer me one question?” said I. “Is my wife well? Is she
safe? She is there set among villainies.”
“Your wife?” he answered, sneering. “If you mean Mademoiselle Duvarney,
she is not there.” Then he added solemnly and slowly: “She is in no fear
of your batteries now--she is beyond them. When she was there, she was
not child enough to think that foolish game with the vanished chaplain
was a marriage. Did you think to gull a lady so beyond the minute’s
wildness? She is not there,” he added again in a low voice.
“She is dead?” I gasped. “My wife is dead?”
“Enough of that,” he answered with cold fierceness. “The lady saw the
folly of it all, before she had done with the world. You--you, monsieur!
It was but the pity of her gentle heart, of a romantic nature. You--you
blundering alien, spy, and seducer!”
With a gasp of anger I struck him in the face, and whipped out my sword.
But the officers near came instantly between us, and I could see that
they thought me gross, ill-mannered, and wild, to do this thing before
the General’s tent, and to an envoy.
Doltaire stood still a moment. Then presently wiped a little blood from
his mouth, and said:
“Messieurs, Captain Moray’s anger was justified; and for the blow he
will justify that in some happier time--for me. He said that I had lied,
and I proved him wrong. I called him a spy and a seducer--he sought
to shame, he covered with sorrow, one of the noblest families of New
France--and he has yet to prove me wrong. As envoy I may not fight him
now, but I may tell you that I have every cue to send him to hell one
day. He will do me the credit to say that it is not cowardice that stays
me.”
“If no coward in the way of fighting, coward in all other things,” I
retorted instantly.
“Well, well, as you may think.” He turned to go. “We will meet there,
then?” he said, pointing to the town. “And when?”
“To-morrow,” said I.
He shrugged his shoulder as to a boyish petulance, for he thought it an
idle boast. “To-morrow? Then come and pray with me in the cathedral,
and after that we will cast up accounts--to-morrow,” he said, with a
poignant and exultant malice. A moment afterwards he was gone, and I was
left alone.
Presently I saw a boat shoot out from the shore below, and he was in it.
Seeing me, he waved a hand in an ironical way. I paced up and down, sick
and distracted, for half an hour or more. I knew not whether he lied
concerning Alixe, but my heart was wrung with misery, for indeed he
spoke with an air of truth.
Dead! dead! dead! “In no fear of your batteries now,” he had said. “Done
with the world!” he had said. What else could it mean? Yet the more I
thought, there came a feeling that somehow I had been tricked. “Done
with the world!” Ay, a nunnery--was that it? But then, “In no fear of
your batteries now”--that, what did that mean but death?
At this distressful moment a message came from the General, and I went
to his tent, trying to calm myself, but overcome with apprehension.
I was kept another half hour waiting, and then, coming in to him, he
questioned me closely for a little about Doltaire, and I told him the
whole story briefly. Presently his secretary brought me the commission
for my appointment to special service on the General’s own staff.
“Your first duty,” said his Excellency, “will be to--reconnoitre; and if
you come back safe, we will talk further.”
While he was speaking I kept looking at the list of prisoners which
still lay upon his table. It ran thus:
Monsieur and Madame Joubert.
Monsieur and Madame Carcanal.
Madame Rousillon.
Madame Champigny.
Monsieur Pipon.
Mademoiselle La Rose.
L’Abbe Durand.
Monsieur Halboir.
La Soeur Angelique.
La Soeur Seraphine.
I know not why it was, but the last three names held my eyes. Each of
the other names I knew, and their owners also. When I looked close,
I saw that where “La Soeur Angelique” now was another name had been
written and then erased. I saw also that the writing was recent. Again,
where “Halboir” was written there had been another name, and the same
process of erasure and substitution had been made. It was not so with
“La Soeur Seraphine.” I said to the General at once, “Your excellency,
it is possible you have been tricked.” Then I pointed out what I had
discovered. He nodded.
“Will you let me go, sir?” said I. “Will you let me see this exchange?”
“I fear you will be too late,” he answered. “It is not a vital matter, I
fancy.”
“Perhaps to me most vital,” said I, and I explained my fears.
“Then go, go,” he said kindly. He quickly gave directions to have
me carried to Admiral Saunders’s ship, where the exchange was to be
effected, and at the same time a general passport.
In a few moments we were hard on our way. Now the batteries were silent.
By the General’s orders, the bombardment ceased while the exchange
was being effected, and the French batteries also were still. A sudden
quietness seemed to settle on land and sea, and there was only heard,
now and then, the note of a bugle from a ship of war. The water in the
basin was moveless, and the air was calm and quiet. This heraldry of war
was all unnatural in the golden weather and sweet-smelling land.
I urged the rowers to their task, and we flew on. We passed another boat
loaded with men, singing boisterously a disorderly sort of song, called
“Hot Stuff,” set to the air “Lilies of France.” It was out of touch with
the general quiet:
“When the gay Forty-Seventh is dashing ashore,
While bullets are whistling and cannons do roar,
Says Montcalm, ‘Those are Shirleys--I know the lapels.’
‘You lie,’ says Ned Botwood, ‘we swipe for Lascelles!
Though our clothing is changed, and we scout powder-puff,
Here’s at you, ye swabs--here’s give you Hot Stuff!’”
While yet we were about two miles away, I saw a boat put out from the
admiral’s ship, then, at the same moment, one from the Lower Town, and
they drew towards each other. I urged my men to their task, and as we
were passing some of Admiral Saunders’s ships, their sailors cheered us.
Then came a silence, and it seemed to me that all our army and fleet,
and that at Beauport, and the garrison of Quebec, were watching us;
for the ramparts and shore were crowded. We drove on at an angle, to
intercept the boat that left the admiral’s ship before it reached the
town.
War leaned upon its arms and watched a strange duel. There was no
authority in any one’s hands save my own to stop the boat, and the two
armies must avoid firing, for the people of both nations were here in
this space between--ladies and gentlemen in the French boat going to the
town, Englishmen and a poor woman or two coming to our own fleet.
My men strained every muscle, but the pace was impossible--it could not
last; and the rowers in the French boat hung over their oars also
with enthusiasm. With the glass of the officer near me--Kingdon of
Anstruther’s Regiment--I could now see Doltaire standing erect in the
boat, urging the boatmen on.
All round that basin, on shore and cliff and mountains, thousands of
veteran fighters--Fraser’s, Otway’s, Townsend’s, Murray’s; and on the
other side the splendid soldiers of La Sarre, Languedoc, Bearn, and
Guienne--watched in silence. Well they might, for in this entr’acte
was the little weapon forged which opened the door of New France to
England’s glory. So may the little talent or opportunity make possible
the genius of the great.
The pain of this suspense grew so, that I longed for some sound to break
the stillness; but there was nothing for minute after minute. Then, at
last, on the halcyon air of that summer day floated the Angelus from the
cathedral tower. Only a moment, in which one could feel, and see also,
the French army praying, then came from the ramparts the sharp inspiring
roll of a drum, and presently all was still again. Nearer and nearer the
boat of prisoners approached the stone steps of the landing, and we were
several hundred yards behind.
I motioned to Doltaire to stop, but he made no sign. I saw the cloaked
figures of the nuns near him, and I strained my eyes, but I could not
note their faces. My men worked on ardently, and presently we gained.
But I saw that it was impossible to reach them before they set foot on
shore. Now their boat came to the steps, and one by one they hastily got
out. Then I called twice to Doltaire to stop. The air was still, and
my voice carried distinctly. Suddenly one of the cloaked figures sprang
towards the steps with arms outstretched, calling aloud, “Robert!
Robert!” After a moment, “Robert, my husband!” rang out again, and then
a young officer and the other nun took her by the arm to force her
away. At the sharp instigation of Doltaire, instantly some companies
of marines filed in upon the place where they had stood, leveled their
muskets on us, and hid my beloved wife from my view. I recognized the
young officer who had put a hand upon Alixe. It was her brother Juste.
“Alixe! Alixe!” I called, as my boat still came on.
“Save me, Robert!” came the anguished reply, a faint but searching
sound, and then no more.
Misery and mystery were in my heart all at once. Doltaire had tricked
me. “Those batteries can not harm her now!” Yes, yes, they could not
while she was a prisoner in our camp. “Done with the world!” Truly, when
wearing the garb of the Sister Angelique. But why that garb? I swore
that I would be within that town by the morrow, that I would fetch my
wife into safety, out from the damnable arts and devices of Master Devil
Doltaire, as Gabord had called him.
The captain of the marines called to us that another boat’s length would
fetch upon us the fire of his men. There was nothing to do, but to turn
back, while from the shore I was reviled by soldiers and by the rabble.
My marriage with Alixe had been made a national matter--of race and
religion. So, as my men rowed back towards our fleet, I faced my
enemies, and looked towards them without moving. I was grim enough
that moment, God knows; I felt turned to stone. I did not stir
when--ineffaceable brutality--the batteries on the heights began to
play upon us, the shot falling round us, and passing over our heads, and
musket-firing followed.
“Damned villains! Faithless brutes!” cried Kingdon beside me. I did not
speak a word, but stood there defiant, as when we first had turned back.
Now, sharply, angrily, from all our batteries, there came reply to the
French; and as we came on with only one man wounded and one oar broken,
the whole fleet cheered us. I steered straight for the Terror of France,
and there Clark and I, he swearing violently, laid plans.